Page 179 of Summer Love

I grab a marker from the drawer, uncap it. I draw a thick line through Future, then through Olympic.

I leave Champion.

I set the board on the bed, cap the marker.

I sit down on the step, the door open to the night. Flip’s already snoring on the mattress.

My dad never asked my mom to choose between him and her career. After me, after Noah, he helped her get back to where she was. He never told her, “Stay. Forget what you wanted to become.”

That’s what he taught me. I’m not going to New York to tear down what Summer’s built—even if it means coming home alone.

I go back inside and slide the board into the backpack, the nose sticking out.

Then I lie down, my fingers in Flip’s fur. Sleep takes me.

CHAPTER 57

Jace

FRIDAY

It’s 4:30 a.m. Still dark. Sea fog blankets everything, thick, damp. The lodge parking lot sits in the yellow glow of a single streetlamp; the rest is in shadow. The sound of the waves carries up from behind the bungalows.

Miles’s olive-green Jeep is parked along the hedge, dirty, stickers faded, top and doors off—that’s how it stays most of the year. I throw my backpack onto the passenger seat, along with the bag of snacks Luke dropped off at the trailer at four. Flip, tail high, has been circling my legs since I stepped outside, sure he’s coming with me.

Mom and Avery are already there. My sister looks like she just rolled out of bed—hair a mess, oversized sweatshirt, bare feet in unlaced sneakers. Mom puts a hand on my cheek, takes it away. She doesn’t say anything.

Kai and Maya walk up the path. She’s thrown a hoodie on over pajama shorts; he’s shirtless, a wetsuit pulled up to his waist.

Noah shows up last, a cigarette in his mouth. He’s wearing his khaki-green Crocs, shorts, and a too-tight T-shirt.

“Avy...”

She answers with a grunt and turns her back on him. He doesn’t push it.

Flip catches on. He plants his front paws on the running board, tries to climb into the Jeep. I nudge him away with my knee; he comes back.

“Come on, big guy.”

Kai steps in, slides his arms under his belly, lifts him. Flip protests while Maya pets him.

I scratch him between the ears, then settle in behind the wheel. I turn the key—the engine starts right up.

Avery steps up, squeezes my shoulder.

“Bring her back, Jace,” she says, her voice rough.

I nod. I shift into first and the Jeep rolls forward.

I pull out of the lot and onto Shoreline Drive. Coral Bay’s still asleep. I head north.

A sign appears in the headlights.

Now leaving Coral Bay

I realize I haven’t left California in six years.

I haven’t gone any farther than Palo Alto—and only for hospital checkups. Haven’t been on a plane in years. Since the accident, my world has fit inside this town, this beach, this school. I let it happen.